Things I currently feel sorry for: that Barbie over there on the floor, the chair at the far end of the kitchen table, the entire basement, my t-shirts at the bottom of the drawer, the half of a cinnamon bun on the counter, all the books I own but failed to read before I bought a new one, my dining room.
The Barbie was just thrown there, without thought for her position. She’s face down and her arm is wretched over to the side, awkwardly. It looks like it would hurt terribly.
And the chair is the one that never gets sat on. We all have assigned seating (thanks to cruise director, Eirinn) and that chair was left out of the plan. It rarely feels the warmth of a butt.
My whole basement only ever gets used to throw junk in and to do the laundry. It’s barren and neglected. Concrete walls and exposed ducts don’t make for a very cozy room.
My t-shirts that have the misfortune of living at the bottom of my drawer have been forgotten. When searching for a top, I grab what’s easiest accessed, and that, unfortunately is not those on the bottom.
The cinnamon bun has been halved. Too small for a grown up and the little ones have no interest in food that has been portion controlled. They’d much rather take a full sized bun and waste half. Which is exactly what happened.
The books I’ve bought but neglected to read before replacing them with newer books must feel like the older kids at the orphanage. Am I ever going to read them? Probably. Eventually. Yes. But until then, they must wait on the shelf, wondering.
My dining room is pretty. So pretty. Decorated with care and thought. AND THEN ABANDONED WITHOUT REGARD. It currently is being used to hold Christmas gifts that haven’t been assigned a home as of yet. Rarely is there any dining in that room.
All of these things make me sad.
See what just happened there? With the crazy? Yeah, that’s what happens in my head. I feel sorry for things that are just things and then it makes me sad because I just called the things “just things”.
And, my lawdy, people, the turmoil that the Toy Story series has put me through. SEE? I TOLD YOU THINGS HAD FEELINGS. We got the girls Jesse The Cowgirl and Woody for Christmas. The replica type toys that look exactly like those in the movies and because of this SICKNESS I have, I have not-so-subtly been encouraging the kids to adopt them as their new favourite toys. I’ve convinced Eirinn that she wants to sleep with Jesse at night. I’m terribly protective of the way they treat the dolls, too. I panic and yell “DON’T HOLD THEM BY THE STRING!” just in case they break. Jesse and Woody would be sad if their strings broke.
But do you know what’s the worst part about all of this nuttery? The grossly abnormal amount of time I spend thinking about the toy box we have in our basement filled with the girls’ secondary toys. The Forgotten Toys. They don’t get played with anymore. They just sit down there, in the dark, wondering if the girls still love them. They probably hope that every time the basement door opens, it’s one of the kids coming down to play with them. And then, when it’s not, they probably cry little toy tears.
THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS INSIDE MY HEAD, PEOPLE.